[He doesn't respond at first, at least not with words. What Gepard does do is stare at Figaro, give him the once-over, just up and down him. He then reaches for his pocket, where his phone is, with all the calm composure of a Silvermane Captain deciding to work with an informant, which is how he's going to treat this.
Gepard then pats his pocket. He then glances down with alarm, because where the hell is his phone, and then he remembers the events of the last 24 hours. The restful sleep in the terrible bed. The fact he's wearing a strange man's clothes. Gepard touches his neck, he remembers the biting thing. He looks at Figaro again.]
...I don't have my phone with me. [It's really hard to act like a Silvermane Captain when he fails basic things like that.] In fact, I'm pretty sure...hold on.
[He gets up from the table-] Wait right here. [-retreats back to the bedroom, finds his stuff, fishes his wallet out from his normal clothes, and flips through it as he walks back in and settles back in his seat like they're friends and Figaro's not just in it for the benefits.]
Ah. [Ah. That gets slid across the table to Figaro.] I even was issued a fake ID...in case something like last night happened, but I didn't feel like cooperating with the suspect. See? [The identification proclaims that the owner is one Johan Smith. No picture, and he's two inches shorter than the information on the card, and the information implies that he's five years older than he actually is, but it's functional enough and reusable.] But I can write down my number for you?
no subject
Gepard then pats his pocket. He then glances down with alarm, because where the hell is his phone, and then he remembers the events of the last 24 hours. The restful sleep in the terrible bed. The fact he's wearing a strange man's clothes. Gepard touches his neck, he remembers the biting thing. He looks at Figaro again.]
...I don't have my phone with me. [It's really hard to act like a Silvermane Captain when he fails basic things like that.] In fact, I'm pretty sure...hold on.
[He gets up from the table-] Wait right here. [-retreats back to the bedroom, finds his stuff, fishes his wallet out from his normal clothes, and flips through it as he walks back in and settles back in his seat like they're friends and Figaro's not just in it for the benefits.]
Ah. [Ah. That gets slid across the table to Figaro.] I even was issued a fake ID...in case something like last night happened, but I didn't feel like cooperating with the suspect. See? [The identification proclaims that the owner is one Johan Smith. No picture, and he's two inches shorter than the information on the card, and the information implies that he's five years older than he actually is, but it's functional enough and reusable.] But I can write down my number for you?